It was a warm, humid night, and the moist air was welcome on my skin as we stepped out into the parking lot behind the building. The asphalt beneath my feet still held a great deal of the heat it had absorbed during the day, and felt vaguely sticky. I was glad I’d chosen not to wear the shoes You had so kindly offered me, Sir.
I had never felt so awake to all of my senses, or taken such pleasure in them. The droning of cicadas and the rustling of the nearby trees was music, the smells of the warm asphalt with a hint of gasoline and the very taste of the air were gifts to me.
And my skin, Sir! In my on-going state of arousal every stray breeze was an intimate caress, every step a reminder of the wetness between my legs. It felt as though an orgasm was just moments away – and yet would never actually arrive.
It was wonderful, Sir.
And yet, Sir, even lost in such an overwhelming sexual haze, I could hardly help being aware of the fact that I was almost completely naked and being led, by what was for all intents and purposes a leash around my neck, out of the darkness of the vacant parking lot, across a dimly-lit street and onto the sidewalks of what was very definitely a residential area. Past block after block of houses where people I knew, friends and clients, might very well live, and where at any moment one of them might drive by or even pull into their driveway just as we approached it.
I imagined us being suddenly caught in the glare of their headlights. Pictured their shocked reaction to the tableau we’d present – and wondered if they’d even recognize Nadine, the real estate lawyer they’d thought they knew.
I was pretty sure that even I wouldn’t have recognized myself, Sir. And that made me strangely happy. I almost wished that someone would see us, Sir.
Two or three cars did go by as we continued walking, yet I felt no sense of panic when I heard one approach, knowing that I was in Your care, Sir. And sure enough, each time You simply led me off the sidewalk and into the darkness of whichever yard we happened to be near until the car had passed, then we continued our journey.
I had no sense of time or distance, no thought of where You might be leading me or what might happen after we arrived. I was in a dream that had no beginning or end. My gaze simply rested on You, Sir, as You led me. I tried to match my strides to Yours and trusted You to lead me around anything on the sidewalk that might hurt me, like broken glass or large rocks.
I was utterly content – possibly for the first time in my adult life, I realized. And after we—
Oh, Sir! I was so involved in writing this for You that I completely lost track of the time and forgot about my first appointment of the day: the Halvorsens, a young couple buying their first house, who actually arrived a few minutes early. The office door was unlocked, of course, so if one of them hadn’t knocked before opening the door they would have discovered me in the position I described for you earlier – the position to which I have now returned in order to continue writing to You, Sir – which would have been extremely embarrassing for everyone, to say the least.
As it was I barely had the time to bolt upright onto my knees and struggle to my feet as they entered. My skirt fell back into place as I rose, covering both my panties and the fact that my pantyhose were still pushed down well past my hips. This made the act of stepping forward to greet my clients more than a little awkward, and I know for a fact that I was blushing.
As I welcomed them I vaguely waved this same legal pad, which I still clutched in my left hand, to indicate that I had dropped it on the floor and had been in the act of retrieving it when they’d entered. They appeared to have noticed nothing amiss as we all took our seats.
I, however, Sir, suddenly required to re-enter my earlier life and become my professional self again, when moments before I had been, in my memory, blissfully following You down a public sidewalk at the end of a leash, found the transition so jarring as to be nearly unbearable.
Impossible, in fact, Sir, since it took only the slightest, unconscious movement of a foot or leg to remind me of my pantyhose, still constricting my thighs – and why. And You will not be surprised, I’m sure, Sir, to learn that those same nasty, stained and undoubtedly fragrant panties were once again soaked throughout the crotch, and that my nipples were pressing uncomfortably yet pleasurably against the cups of my brassiere.
Add to that the all-too-potent presence of the marker You had used on me, still carefully enshrined standing upright in the exact center of my desk, with no papers or other clutter nearby. The Halvorsens, of course, had no idea why it was there or what it had been used for, though I could hardly help noticing their occasional curious glances at it. But I certainly knew, and it was all I could do not to keep checking it to see if there was any trace of my juices still visible along its sides.
All in all, Sir, it was not one of my best client meetings. I stumbled and stuttered and lost my train of thought, couldn’t find documents that were right there on the desk, and undoubtedly made my clients wonder whether they’d hired a competent attorney. And Sir, I didn’t care. I was counting the moments until I could reasonably excuse myself for a moment to visit the bathroom and follow Your instructions to me. I was visualizing myself on my knees in there even while I struggled to explain mortgage amortization to the Halvorsens.
And when I did finally find the courage to leave them waiting at my desk (undoubtedly discussing their doubts about me in low voices) it was all I could do not to run to the bathroom and slam the door behind me. (As it was, of course, I couldn’t have run if I’d tried, with my pantyhose still positioned the way it was.) So I simply walked as normally as I could manage, stepped inside the bathroom then turned and gave my clients what I hoped was a reassuring smile before gently closing the door.
Sir, I’m sure You would have been amused to see how frantically I began tearing off my clothes in order to perform my ritual for You. Not only that, but I really did have to use the toilet, and I begrudged every second I spent on the seat, so eager was I to begin.
As I sat there the fragrance of my panties, just above my knees and well marinated in my juices, rose to my nostrils. I was already so aroused that I desperately wanted to cup my breasts and play with my nipples. But You had instructed me to call You first and frankly, Sir, more than anything else at that moment I wanted to hear Your voice, so the moment I was done I literally lunged off of the toilet seat and onto my knees, barely taking the time to pull the handle and flush.
I had brought my purse in with me, of course, tossing it on the floor as I shed my clothing, and now I fumbled through the pile to retrieve it and find my phone. As I held it in my hands I saw that they were shaking as if I were a junkie who had waited too long for a fix, and in a sense I suppose I was, Sir.
I hope it will please You, Sir, when I tell You that I had taken the precautions, not only of programming Your number into my speed-dial but of bringing my headset along as well. Why? So that as soon as I had it in place and had pushed the button to dial Your number, I could fully assume Your preferred position for me – the one You taught me on our first night together: kneeling upright with my legs spread wide – after quickly reaching down to yank my panties up to where they should be – my back arched and my hands locked behind my head.
Offering myself to You, Sir.
I listened as the phone rang: Once… Twice… I could barely hear it over the sound of my own breathing. A third ring. Oh please, please…
The ringing stopped. Then…nothing. Was my call being sent to Your voicemail? Nothing. I listened intently. The sound had definitely changed after the phone had stopped ringing. It was silence, yes, but it was the silence of a room – I thought I could detect the distant electronic humming of a computer.
Then I remembered Your very first instructions to me, Sir, when You told me to call You and ask for my panties. The instructions I had failed to follow.
I took a quick, shaky breath then, and spoke: “I… I apologize for being a disobedient little slut, Sir.”
Then I stopped breathing altogether.
Oh, Sir! Then I heard You – a warm, affectionate chuckle that made me want to melt right there on the floor. And then the two most important words in the entire world:
“Good girl.”
Then a different kind of silence, and I knew You had ended the call.
But those two words, Sir, those two words. Or maybe it was just hearing the sound of Your voice, but suddenly everything that’s happened between us during these last couple of days came rushing back into my mind. The few pathetic shreds of my façade that I’d carried into the bathroom with me, the pretense of still being Nadine the real estate lawyer, were blown away and once again I was nothing but Yours, Sir.
And then it was as if my entire body rippled, as if a wave of heat had rolled through me from my knees to the top of my head. I know that my mouth fell open as I moaned out loud, possibly loud enough for my clients to hear, and that there was a gush of moisture between my legs. I fell forward, face and hands to the floor as if bowing to You, Sir. My glasses (I had kept them on, Sir, as I thought You would want me to) fell to the tiles as I gasped for breath and fought, with every atom of concentration still remaining to me, not to come.
I knew it was not allowed, Sir, and I would be damned if I would fail You again if I could possibly prevent it.
And I succeeded, Sir! I clenched my fingers so hard that my nails nearly drew blood in both palms, clenched my entire trembling body while I whispered, “No! No! No!...” over and over again through my teeth. Oh, it was so hard, Sir, not to give in, not to listen to the little voice telling me that it would be all right because I was surrendering to You.
But I succeeded, Sir. And finally my body stopped trembling and I was able to sit up again. It seemed as though hours had gone by, although I knew I’d only been in the bathroom for a few minutes at most. My hands were still shaking as I removed the headset and tossed it back into my purse.
I took my position again. And considered my dilemma:
You had instructed me to masturbate immediately after calling You – and yet my pussy was still quivering like a stretched bowstring. I felt that if I so much as thought about it, never mind touched or, God help me, stroked it, no effort of will could prevent me from tumbling over the edge this time. Not to mention screaming at the top of my lungs, which would definitely not help my already strained relationship with the Halvorsens, still waiting for me and undoubtedly wondering what was taking me so long.
I thought as quickly as my overwhelmed state would allow. Your instructions to me were – and I struggled to remember Your exact words, Sir – to masturbate through my panties until they – and my hand – were good and wet. My panties were already so wet that I could have mopped the bathroom floor with them, Sir, as You know. I could hardly remember a time when they hadn’t been soaked. But I hadn’t actually masturbated, Sir, and of course my hands were still dry, unless You count the cold perspiration still on them from my recent struggle.
Oh, Sir! I was terrified that if I followed one of Your instructions – to masturbate – I would be unable to obey one of Your most fundamental rules: that I am not to come without Your express permission. And yet I had no choice but to try.
I slowly lowered my right hand until it hovered between my legs, less than an inch away from my pussy. Then, biting my lower lip with concentration, I raised my hand and cupped my pussy as if it were as delicate and fragile as an eggshell.
I took a deep breath and let it out as slowly as possible, trying to calm myself. Then I contracted my hand around my pussy and gave it the slightest possible squeeze.
Warmth and wetness immediately spread across my hand, the moisture even seeping between my closed fingers. A jolt ran up my spine and I gasped, immediately removing my hand from between my legs.
There, I thought, forcing myself to breathe through my nose and willing my body to subside, I’ve done it.
I hope You will be pleased, Sir, or at least satisfied that I made every possible effort to fulfill Your instructions.
I’m sure You would have been entertained, Sir, to see me struggling back into my clothing while simultaneously waving my right hand and back and forth through the air in an attempt to dry the pussy juices on my hand since I knew I was not allowed to wash it. And I hope it will please You to know that at the last moment, before opening the bathroom door, I decided to leave my pantyhose bunched below my hips as before, as a constant reminder of what I have become.
As I cautiously opened the door and stepped out, I heard Ann – Mrs. Halvorsen – talking to her husband. She was turned towards him and hadn’t noticed me. “…probably just having her period, that’s all, Ted. I mean, why el– ” Ted saw me and nudged her with his elbow, cutting her off, and they both turned towards me with embarrassed smiles. I pretended not to have heard as I made my way back to the desk and attempted to pick up where we’d left off.
I don’t know why, Sir, but somehow everything I had just done in the bathroom had the effect of clearing my mind, and I was able to focus on the task at hand quite easily, even with that marker standing in the middle of the desk. I hope the Halvorsens were reassured that I was actually competent.
They seemed to be, at least until the very last moment. We had plowed through the paperwork at hand, discussed some points about the closing costs, and scheduled our next appointment.
Everything was fine until they were on their way out and I shook their hands.
The moment I clasped Ted’s hand I saw him glance sharply down at it with a barely concealed grimace and I immediately became aware of the slight stickiness which still clung to my palm and fingers, and blushed furiously. I said nothing about it, of course – what could I possibly say, Sir? – and simply continued to tell them both that I thought they’d made an excellent choice on their house, even as I forced myself to turn and offer my hand to Ann, whose reaction mirrored Ted’s.
They made a hasty exit, and as they headed down the stairs I saw Ted lift his hand to his nose and take a short sniff, then turn and say something to his wife as they disappeared from sight.
Oh, Sir, what have You done to me, that I not only humiliate myself on Your behalf, but take such pleasure from it, and pride in it? That I had to lean back against the office door for a moment, weak in the knees, as I lifted my own hand to my nose and smelled what Ted and no doubt Anna by now had smelled? Surely they both know what a wet pussy smells like, and have realized what I was doing in the bathroom while they waited.
Sir, why did that thought turn me on so much? I desperately wanted to touch myself again, but didn’t dare. Instead, here I am on all fours on the floor behind my desk again, skirt up over my hips and ass in the air as I bend over my legal pad to continue writing to You, Sir.